


Delicate

by cognomen



Category: Pirates of the Carribean
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-12-26
Updated: 2009-12-26
Packaged: 2017-10-05 07:25:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,971
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/39213
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cognomen/pseuds/cognomen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff"><p>This story is set up, primarily, to illustrate the universe I want to revisit, should I wish to have more fun with pirates. First, it leaves all the characters I might want to write with opportunity. Also, there were questions left at the end of the 3rd movie -aside from the obvious. To be honest, what worried me the most was working Norrington back into the story. Tia Dalma gave me inspiration on my second viewing. Governor Swann passes by, and they are unable to do anything to save him from his fate. Tia explains, "Him at peace." It could well just be comforting words, but it could also be the reason why they can't bring him back. Barbossa, conversely, could return because he wasn't at peace. James certainly has some unresolved issues, in my book. I also agonized about Jack's decision on the fate of the  Black Pearl, but I felt that Jack vs. Barbossa had been well played and exhausted by AWE. Besides, how could  Barbossa resist the lure of a stealing a better boat from Jack? Then everyone would have what they wanted - I'm sure this is witty Jack's plan all along.</p></blockquote>





	Delicate

Davey Jones stepped in on him while he stood in the cabin, thinking in circles in a swift pace on what exactly to do about one Captain Elizabeth Swann, currently held below decks with those that she claimed as her crew. The Empress was close behind, and in the cover of night, there might be something to be done to set things arights - if not by her conscience than by at least his own.

"You love her." He observed, coming through the wall in that unsettling way of his. "And she does not return the sentiments."

"She took your heart and she cast it aside." Jones twisted the words darkly, expressing the deed as something fouler than murder, dirtier than mutiny. His hand that had remaining fingers curled into a fist with remembered sleight.

"Worse, she let you believe that she would keep it." He growled. Admiral Norrington wondered if he himself was still the matter under discussion. "Until you outlived yer convenience, that is."

It did strike a familiar and painful chord. Surprisingly, it was almost easy to relate to Davey Jones. But Jones, obsessed with his lost emotion, had become a monster. The thought was as sobering as ice water. Norrington could not be a slave to what he had lost, or his fate could well be the same.

Davey Jones continued, oblivious to the admiral's real train of thought. "She'll never even feel sorry for what she's done." He rasped. "Nor mirror your emotions for her."

"Without that," Jones stepped closer into proximity of Norrington, away from the chest that held his heart. "What's there worth livin' for?"

"You're correct." James agreed. Jones startled, looking at him attentively instead of observing him sidelong. He cocked his head like a dog straining to hear. He seemed surprised at the agreement, waiting clearly for further explanation.

"I do not fear death." Norrington sounded firm, to his own ears. He knew the lie of it, but he had seen through Jones' trap. The Dutchman's captain was making a clear bid to regain his heart and his ship where he saw an opportunity in the admiral's weakness. Bitterly, James did not confide that the loss of himself with Mercer aboard would change nothing. Even with the rank of Admiral, in Cutler Beckett's plans, he was quite expandable. The betrayal of Governor Swann clearly indicated as much.

Davey Jones exhaled sharply in a snort that sprayed drops of spit onto Norrington's coat. He leaned in, close enough to reach out and touch, should his beard of tentacles have such a mind. He looked deep into the Admiral's eyes, measuring the truth in the words. Then he burst into laughter. With the sharp thud of his peg leg landing against the deck, he wheeled about and disappeared into the ship, still chuckling.

James had little time to work his plan into action. It was hastily conceived, and would have to be even more hastily assembled. The ship was still for now, all hands either below decks at the order of Beckett's men, or focused on their jobs. If he kept his steps brisk, he could accomplish his goal without question. Being Admiral had to be good for something, at least.  
-

 

Captain Turner stepped adeck from below. There was much to do to return the Dutchman to it's former glory - the woodwork needed patching, and below, there was a wreckage of remains and the very confused. Those that the ship had consumed had been released, in some cases leaving only skeletal remains, and in others leaving sailors that were useless - too far gone to man a ship. They would have to be ferried off at the next stop.

The crew - Maccus leading, had brightly colored loads slung in their arms. They were heaving back and forth, at the rail, and finally they flung their burden overboard. It resolved its' self into limp limbs and a broken body, clad in the blue and yellow coat of her majesty's navy, divisions to aid the East India Trading Company. Beside the four sailors, there was a pile of the soldier's bodies, carelessly assembled. They hefted the next while he was puzzling out the sight.

"Hold!" He barked, lifting his hand in a motion to indicate stop. The crew paused, the next body slung between them. He stepped sharply forward, intendant on asking what their business was. He had not given this order, and with this crew - full of those that he did not yet trust, nor were they quite yet ready to treat him exactly as they had treated Jones - he would not allow them to act without order. "Who gave this order?"

"The bodies of our enemies only slow us and take up space." It was Macchus who answered, when the other three glanced at each other for answer, before looking to the first mate at last for affirmation. "'Tis far better we be rid of these useless shells." He made another heaving motion.

The coat was entirely unremarkable, the body equally limp as it's counterparts. What caught Will's attention, as the lifeless thing flopped, was the wig that dislodged and fell to the deck, accompanied by the standard tricorn. Beneath was a dark ponytail, held back. The hair fell free in a familiar mess, one he hadn't seen in some time. Admiral James Norrington, looking quite deceased.

"Belay." Will said, calmly. "These men followed their orders, surely as you would have." Save the former Admiral, who's coat bore two holes prominent, one afront and it's twin aback, jagged. They were certainly made more noticeable by the well rusted spear that had created them, still standing out in sharp contrast, the one hard line in a body that had lost it's even it's death rigidity. "Loyalty does not deserve this reward."

"Captain." Maccus said, carefully, as if explaining to a very small child. "They are but shells. Our duty is to souls only, and but as a guide into the next world. We've lost these."

"Then we shall give chase."

"Captain..."

"That's an order from your Captain, Maccus." Bootstrap had come up behind his son, somewhat enjoying his newfound authority over those that were less fair-minded. Will would have to seriously consider a new crew at some point, but his Helmsman, at least, was worthy of his trust.

"This body stays."

Elizabeth had quickly explained Norrington's role in her release back to the Empress. It would be unkind of Will to let such a redeeming act go unrewarded - or unpunished, perhaps. To say the least, he was in need of a new crew. The Admiral's track record for loyalty was not spotless, but everyone deserved a second chance, and Will would have slightly more leverage. After all, it was doubly hard to cross someone who could not only bring you back from the dead but on a whim return you there if you displeased.

"The others we will take with us." They were headed for distant shores anyway. There was no need to trouble Calypso with this burden.  
-

 

Jack came aboard from the Pearl, poking about the recesses of the ship with a sudden interest. He seemed disappointed to find little of value and less of interest. At last his may wobblingly into the cabin. The crew had ignored him on his walkabout, and Will had been aware of his actions, though uncaring. There was nothing to steal, and no damage that could be done that would render her un-sailable. Certainly, Jack would reveal his reason for being aboard in his own time.

"I wouldn't have thought you the gloating type." Sparrow said, mincing toward perhaps the most macabre of Will's cabin adornments. "Rather a disturbing trophy, If I do say so."

The body didn't bother will - little did. Everything seemed much clearer without the hard emotions of the heart to drive his actions. It was only flesh, and while it was, perhaps, beginning to smell a little ripe, the whole vessel reeked of rotting fish and dying clams. It was still sloughing off it's old skin of crustaceans and barnacles, emerging from it's dead shell piece by disgusting, stinking piece. All in all, Norrington's rot did little to distract from it.

Still, it was his ship, and he would eventually remove all traces of it's diversion from course.

"I mean," Jack's hands reached out cleverly, prodding the butt end of the spear that protruded. He jumped back quickly as the haft splintered off halfway down, leaving him with a handful of broken spear. He quickly disposed of it by shoving it out of sight - directly under the pillow on Will's cot. "You got the girl, in the end. What do you need him around for."

"Crew." Will explained simply, and left it at that.

Jack eyed the body, then will, then the body again. "And a right lively pirate he'll make." Captain Sparrow moved away, turning a strand of beads in his fingers the same way thoughts moved through his mind. "Excellent at scrubbing decks."   
-

 

With Elizabeth behind, Captain Turner turned his attention full ahead. They sailed dedicatedly to the ends of the world, and from there the crew guided her with unerring instinct to the river of souls. When he came upon the stream, he remembered the dread again - though this time it was far more distant. These souls no longer could drag him with them - indeed, his place was sailing at the head of the line.

"More Speed!" He ordered, and the crew moved to pull the sails shorter against the wind, which pushed the ship to rapidly overtake the floating bodies of those drowned. Soon the boats came into view, their lanterns casting star reflections in the water. The light shied away from the light of the other lanterns, remaining only, carefully, in a tiny circle around each respective boat.

Cutler Beckett sat pale in the midst of all the boats. It was a small armada of tiny ships, each captained and crewed by a single man in blue and yellow. They all cast about, confused. Some patted their bodies for sign of injury occasionally, others seemed resigned and stared down at the waves. Beckett sat harmless and small, lost and unimportant amongst those that surrounded him. The lantern on the bow of his ship swayed, casting his white features in shifting light. His mouth moved, repeating a rhythm over and over - just good business, just good business.

They were close.

"Full sheets!" Will barked, and the order echoed down the ship. "All ahead full, we must overtake them!"

The Flying Dutchman belonged at the head of the line, leading. And he knew that if he made it fast enough, he could pull one boat from amongst them. Over the ship, lanterns were lit. It blazed with color, not black and dark as before, but bone white and shining. A ghost among ghosts.  
-

They overtook the head of the line without finding him. Will worried that if it took much longer there would be permanent damage to his body when it was returned to him. If they sailed the living sea, he would have already had to worry about flies - but none dared here, beyond the world's end.

They made land, the ship dropping anchor at a long dock that extended out from a barren beach. The ocean ended here, one outcropping extending from a beach that went on in either direction as far as the eye could see. Beyond the beach was a dark forest, it's shade deep and inviting. It spoke of adventure, perhaps danger. There was not a soul to be seen here, save the ones that stepped ashore and disappeared into the woods at the Dutchman's lead. It was a long line, longer still with the recent ferocious battles between pirate and trading company. Will found it easy to be patient, though he knew that the longer they spent waiting the farther away his goal got.

The Flying Dutchman's crew stood on the deck, also watching. Many were doing this duty for the first time. Those that remembered had long become part of the ship, and were doddering below decks. The bodies - save the one in his cabin - he ordered brought ashore and buried. This done, he addressed his crew.

"Your dues to the former Jones shall be considered paid in full." Will stood on the railing before them, thinking of Elizabeth's speech as he did so. What he wouldn't give to know what she was doing. "You are free of your service if you so desire."

The ship lost fully two thirds of it's crew, many ready to move on from service, some unable to accept a captain that had not taken them on. Lastly they herded those who has lost too much of themselves to be of any use ashore. They all made their way inwards in those foreign lands. Maccus, last to decide on leaving, shook Will's hand before he went.

Remaining, besides Will and Bootstrap, were five. It was barely enough to keep them going, but that was all they needed. They raised sails and turned back the way they came.

"There's always those stalwart men what feel they still have work before they rest." Bootstrap mused, turning the wheel hard to bring the ship about. "Barring that, the desperate bastards with no other way out."  
-

 

Calypso prowled the deck, purring over the ship's railing. She ran her hands along the aged wood, and it surged beneath her touch. Railings reached broken ends toward each other like parted hands. It rejoined beneath her fingers, flawless and whole at the beckon of her favor. She moved along the decks with the ease of old familiarity and her usual touch of mystic eccentricity. Little seemed changed about her when she was at ease, but Will knew better. When she was infuriated, her true nature shone.

"Calypso." He touched her arm with a wise measure of caution, given her capacity for moodiness. "May I ask your aid?"

She turned to consider him for a long moment. Then she smiled, blackened teeth behind blacker lips. "I be in a favorable mood today, Captain Jones." Her singsong tone implied that it would not always be so. Knowingly, she turned for his cabin. She knew also, where exactly her attention was required.

"It is a folly, Davey Jones, to decide crew like this in the future." She reached out, yanking the spear free of the corpse. Long congealed gore followed it's exit, then seeped inwards. Will guessed it to be Calypso's doing. "Him that be at peace, him lost forever, and 'tis duty of the Flying Dutchman to take him home."

"But in this case?" Will prompted, knowing well his duties - and well the follies of casting them aside.

"Him gone astray." She said, cryptic. Her eyes were focused on something distant. "There is no rest in him soul." Her hands turned the bloodied spear - though it had long dried, flaking onto her skin. Then she cast it down hard to the floor of the cabin. It bounced once, end to end against the floor, clattering, then rolling away. "You find him Davey Jones!" She charged in her thick accent, having perhaps discerned what had befallen him by the spear.

"And then?" Will asked, glad to finally have a course.

"Have him for your crew if him agree." She said, still firm. "But you guide him with the Dutchman - home, or him never find it!"

Will glanced down at the spear. It lay perfectly still, the tip pointing arrow straight, forty five degrees port of stern. When he looked up to ask further direction of the goddess, she was gone. He shoved the doors open, barking orders. The crew was assembled curiously outside the cabin anyway, hoping to catch some hint of the happenings within.

"All hands make ready to bring her about!" He strode to the helm, sailors scattering to their tasks. Bootstrap surrendered the wheel without comment, but stood curiously nearby.

"She's charged us a specific task." Will explained. "And we've need of new crew."  
-

 

The spear pointed true. They crossed the flow of souls, all headed swiftly in the proper direction. A full day and a half astray of it's course, a ship drifted overturned. Draped over the inverted hull was a still figure. A mess of dark hair had lost it's semblance of a neat tail long ago. Suspended between his hands was the damp wreck of an admiral's hat, feathers limp and encrusted with salt. Will ordered the crew to make ready.

"James Norrington!" He called as the ship came in range of the Dutchman's lines. "Admiral!"

The figure perked. He drew himself up on one hand and squinted against the sun up at the ship towering overhead. "Yes." He said distantly, his voice confused, but the tone could well have been appropriate at any English tea. "That is my name, isn't it?"

"Cast the lines!" Captain Turner ordered.

They flew true, and soon enough the confused soul was climbing the ship's side with the aid of four hauling. Once aboard, he hesitated, eyeing Bootstrap mistrustfully. He didn't really seem entirely certain why he felt like he needed to be wary, but he skirted widely around the Helmsman.

Will steered him by the shoulders back to his quarters - better to explain after the information would be retained. He wasn't entirely certain how this would work, but something was bound to happen if he brought soul in proximity to body.

It was easier than he thought. Though it didn't exactly self-initiate, he found that if he stuffed the retrieved soul really close to it's previous body, the two halves did in fact reach out and reunite themselves. The former admiral, now formerly dead admiral, fused. He was still for a long moment.

"What next?" Will asked Bootstrap. The helmsman shrugged un-helpfully.

Norrington surged to his feet, pawing for his sword at the sight of Bootstrap in such proximity. The sword was absent - it had unmade it's maker, and now resided in the other corner of Will's cabin. He was eventually planning on it's return to Norrington - should the man decide he still needed it, anyway.

"James!" Will greeted enthusiastically. "Good to see you're on your feet."

Regarding Bootstrap with his entire attention, Norrington reached down to feel through the opening in his clothes. "You're looking better than when I saw you last." He managed at last, sounding parched.

"And ye look worse." Bootstrap held up his hands to show he meant no harm. "Look, I weren't quite myself when I, uh, dispatched you previous."

"You'll understand if I'm not quite yet ready to forgive you." Norrington backed another step away. "An explanation would be a point in your favor." He hesitated, fingers still probing the scar where the spear had occupied. "And some water."  
-  
"We're aboard the Dutchman."

"Yes."

"And you're the captain."

"Yes."

"And I'm alive again."

"Yes. Well, not really alive per say."

"Something in between." Bootstrap put in encouragingly.

Norrington sat down sharply enough that Will was glad he'd offered a chair. He was slow to digest the information, clearly trying to think things through as logically as it was possible in this situation. He had finally stopped prodding the holes in his frock and coat - satisfied that the flesh beneath was whole, if scarred.

"I find myself in need of a first mate." Will explained. He moved in closer to James, who had dropped his head into his upraised palms. He appeared to be coaxing the tension out of his temples.

"If you're willing to accept a demotion." Will watched carefully for reaction.

"Captain Turner." The voice was muffled by the hand covering his mouth and face, but clearly still vexed and tired. "If you imagine that, at this point, rank means anything at all to me anymore, I should have to strongly consider exactly how offended I am by your misjudgement of my character."

Will drew back, blinking. He wasn't entirely sure what to make of the answer. "So... yes then?"

"You would have me be a pirate?"

"Not really. The Dutchman does honest enough work." Bootstrap explained. "We will return to ferrying souls."

"I would have you be a spy." Will cast his lot in, also.  
James looked up sharply. He stared directly at Will, expression clearly expectant of some kind of punch line.

"Look." Truth was the best course in this situation. "I can't set foot on land. I need someone I trust to find out what's going on out there. More, I need someone familiar to deal with Jack and Barbossa." He hesitated, then confided. "I need you to make sure Elizabeth is well."

James hesitated, clearly as caught on the last point as Captain Turner.

"For how long?" He asked at last, coming around to the idea.

"Until you decide you are ready to rest." Will gave the terms freely, without need for negotiation or rigid rules. "Certainly you weren't ready yet - how did you get so far off course, anyway, and upside-down?"

"There weren't any oars." James answered, looking away as he thought about his decision. "It was faster to kick, but the things are bloody more unstable than they look."

"So, yes then?" Will prompted.

"Yes." James agreed at last, uncertain if he would regret it.  
-

 

All he had to do was think about the Pearl - the knots in her deck, which he thought of with deft memory for detail. He had spent enough time nose-down and scrubbing on her decks to remember the turn of the wood, it's worn and splintery nature, distinctive to a vessel that had seen more than it's fair share of strangeness. With that thought, the world seemed to rush toward him, and he closed his eyes, the sensation turning first to sinking, then to rising. The sound of the ocean changed around him, and a sudden startled squawk caused him to arch one eye open - the Pearl.

"Shiver me timbers!" A parrot repeated, and he glanced up at the wheel where Mister Cotton stood wide-eyed and staring. Norrington suspected that he would probably have the same reaction to himself - after all, he still didn't look quite alive, exactly. Nor did he belong, really, middecks on the Black Pearl, in the dead of night, and with naught by way of explanation.

Taking wing, Mister Cottons' bird raised the alarm, flying straight to the captain's door where a light still burned revealing the ship's master awake at this late hour. James held absolutely still as the Black Pearl's crew roused it's self to action - none entirely certain what to make of the former Admiral's sudden presence.

Behind the assembled pirates, two familiar faces stood out, and James turned sudden attention to them. The guards from the Dutchman. When they noticed him looking, they made frantic negatory motions. They had not been discovered - not unexpected of the Pearl's laughable crew - nor did they wish to be discovered. Sighing, The Dutchman's first mate looked back to the approaching captain - Barbossa. Not entirely surprising.

"Barbossa." James said, carefully.

"Captain Barbossa." The pirate corrected belligerently. "Jack and I have come to an... arrangement."

"Captain Turner sent me from the Flying Dutchman to reach an accord."

"And what accord could I possibly want with him?" He stayed true to pirate nature, holding his cards close to his chest. He betrayed no interest.

"He sent me to reach an accord with Captain Sparrow."

Barbossa laughed - the other pirates joined in nervously, then wholeheartedly when he did not protest their sharing his joke without full understanding of it.

"Our arrangement was that Captain Sparrow were never to set foot on my ship again, Mister Norrington." Barbossa seemed quite pleased with himself. His monkey wore a matching grin that James did his best to ignore. "So either ye'll reach an accord with me, or ye'll be off my ship and back ta wherever ya came from."

James highly doubted that if he wished to remain that Barbossa could stop him from doing so. With a thought, he could be one with the timbers, planks and pulleys that made up the ship's body. Not to mention that he was effectively, immortal and quite untouchable - Davey Jones' legacy made him as deathless as the sea herself. He held silent, waiting for Barbossa to digest the meaning of his wordless pause. The Pearl's captain finally stopped chuckling.

"Love the new look, by the way." Barbossa fairly growled, unimpressed by the silent threat. He reached out and fingered the hole in the front of Norrington's ruined coat. James had to keep himself from slapping the pirate's dirty hands away. "Tell yer master aboard the Dutchman, that no accord can be reached with Sparrow aboard the Black Pearl. And next time, he can come himself instead of sending his scurvy dog ta fetch!"

Well, James thought dryly to himself. At least he would not have to search every port in existence - Tortuga would be where Jack was.  
-

 

Sparrow made a surprised noise that bordered on comical when James found his ship. His hands flew toward his sword belt - not that there was any room for swordplay aboard his tiny vessel. He did pause, and then squint.

"Are you real?" He challenged. "Oh bloody hell - I'm not dead again of something completely ridiculous. Heatstroke or whatnot."

James considered, briefly, answering in the positive simply to mess with Sparrow.

"No." He settled for the simple, dry truth. "You're not dead. And yes, I am quite real."

"How'd you do that?" It was an elaborate series of hand gestures that followed that cued James to the fact that Sparrow meant 'appear from the ship' and not 'speak English' or perhaps 'be present'.

James sighed belaboredly.

"Do it again!"

"No." He repeated, reminding himself of his patience.

Leaning back, Sparrow considered him a long time, up and down.

"Ye've looked better, mate." The pirate's hand made a strange twitching motion by the corner of his mouth.

"I"m not the one sailing about in a dinghy."

"Technically, ye are."

"As an occupation." James was careful to let his wry irritation show.

"Your ship." James continued, turning back to his original intent for conversation. "Appears to be under the command of Barbossa." He paused for effect. "Again."

Jack made a decisively dismissive motion with one hand. "That old bucket?" He sounded flip, but forcedly so. It was hard to turn your back on something you loved. "I've decided to let him keep it. Not worth the trouble."

Inclining his eyebrows, James waited for the other shoe.

"I'm going to get a better ship." Sparrow continued on cue, enthusiastic as a dog let to run. "A faster ship. Faster than your Dutchman, I wager. One to outrun the devil himself." He bragged, boastful sweeps of his arms as accompaniment.

"And how," James asked, wondering if he was indeed, speaking exactly on Jack Sparrow's cue. "Exactly, do you intend to do that?"

"First!" Sparrow had barely let him finish his droll question. "I shall have to find the devil."

"No, Captain Sparrow." James ground out, his nerves not quite frayed, but approaching the point where their strong fibers would begin to snap. "How do you expect to get such a ship."  
"Easy, mate." Jack grinned. He patted his compass affectionately, where it hung from his belt.

"I'll find someone to build it for me."  
-

 

When his first mate returned with the initial reports of the other pirate's whereabouts, Captain Turner was not alone in his quarters. Calypso sat at the captain's table, maps spread. She rose to greet Norrington as he entered.

"I'm informed that you sent him back for me." Norrington explained carefully after Will had introduced them. "Thank you."

She did not respond to the first mate directly, rather she turned back to the Captain of the Dutchman.

"Him save her that hold your heart, Davey Jones." Calypso said, gravely. " 'Tis a debt you would do well to never forget."

She straightened and walked long-nailed fingers up the first mate's chest. "Because of you, she will be waiting when him return in ten long years time." Perhaps she had learned her lesson, or had hurt herself deeply enough with the first Jones that she sympathized with Will and Elizabeth's plight.

" 'Tis not a debt I would leave aside." She said. "But I cannot restore you." She shrugged as if it were little consequence. "Your love must be duty first and fore-most, James Norrington. If Calypso let you go now, you heart break again."

"Besides." She continued, cutting off any chance for argument. "Calypso have a task for you bot'." Mischief gleamed deep in her eyes, as if shining from down a well. She turned coyly to toy with the maps on the table. Will and James both paid sharp attention. "Of those that bound Calypso, none remain. And she in a good enough mood - for now - to let it pass."

Her words poured carefully from her lips like a careful incantation of spell.

"But the loss of the nine pieces of eight means there is no definition of who is lord and who mere beggar." Her words dropped into dramatic singsong, thick with accent. "Brethren Court must reform. Only, this time, it be at Calypso's mercy. Them must remember them debt in the future."

Norrington glanced at will uncertainly, and he offered a humoring shrug in return. Better not to fall out of favor with Calypso, even though attempting to sort the pirates back into positions of importance would be akin in difficulty to getting them all in dresses and trained to sing opera.

"We accept." Will agreed when she looked for input.

"Of course ye accept." She answered sharply, reminding them they had little choice. Her fingers smoothed the maps in place.

"This be your task, Davey Jones."

-

End.

**Author's Note:**

> This story is set up, primarily, to illustrate the universe I want to revisit, should I wish to have more fun with pirates. First, it leaves all the characters I might want to write with opportunity. Also, there were questions left at the end of the 3rd movie -aside from the obvious. To be honest, what worried me the most was working Norrington back into the story. Tia Dalma gave me inspiration on my second viewing. Governor Swann passes by, and they are unable to do anything to save him from his fate. Tia explains, "Him at peace." It could well just be comforting words, but it could also be the reason why they can't bring him back. Barbossa, conversely, could return because he wasn't at peace. James certainly has some unresolved issues, in my book. I also agonized about Jack's decision on the fate of the Black Pearl, but I felt that Jack vs. Barbossa had been well played and exhausted by AWE. Besides, how could Barbossa resist the lure of a stealing a better boat from Jack? Then everyone would have what they wanted - I'm sure this is witty Jack's plan all along.


End file.
